


sympathy and other mistakes

by slowdisaster



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: AU where Sidestep doesn't tell anyone they're a telepath until the Nanosurge, Canon-Typical Violence, Nonbinary Sidestep, Other, Pre-Relationship, the nanovores get a snack but not for long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 15:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18346589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowdisaster/pseuds/slowdisaster
Summary: Sidestep doesn't know why they keep following Marshal Charge into these situations. They don't know why he lets them; for all he knows they're just a normal human, no abilities, nothing special. Just good at dodging.You can't dodge nanovores. But a telepath could divert their attention.Too bad Sidestep's not a telepath. It's safer if everyone believes that.





	sympathy and other mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> malin told me to post this here so i am

Sidestep doesn't know why they keep following Marshal Charge into these situations. They don't know why he lets them; for all he knows they're just a normal human, no abilities, nothing special. Just good at dodging.

You can't dodge nanovores. But a telepath could divert their attention.

Too bad Sidestep's not a telepath. It's safer if everyone believes that.

So Marshal Charge has Sidestep evacuating unharmed civilians. For the injured, there's not much to be done. Once they're in, they just keep eating, some more quickly than others. (They'd caught a quick glimpse of Sunstream's feelings on the matter and quickly pulled back in around themself. Maybe she was right, but it isn't a choice Sidestep could ever make.)

They can feel the hivemind of the nanovores better than they'd expected. Not necessarily a good thing, having a constant, surface level buzz of _EatEatEatEatEatEatEat_ gnawing at their shields. They hope they'll be safely away when they finally break.

Maybe it's just lucky that the nanovores haven't targeted any of the groups Sidestep escorts away from the Rangers' frantic attempts at extermination, or maybe, they joke, because joking is easier than focusing on the steadily growing migraine, they just don't look very appetizing. The attempt at humor doesn't do much for the evacuees, but Ortega- Charge is always willing to joke. Maybe not always. His frown as they approach is so faint Greer wouldn't have seen it if they didn't know him.

"The swarm is starting to branch out. We're trying to keep it contained but it keeps finding ways around us," he explains, and Sidestep nods, the good little soldier, shields frayed but intact. For now.

_EatEatEatEatEatEatEatEatEatEatEatEatEat_

"All the survivors for a mile around us have been evacuated.

"You're sure?" he asks. Of course he has to ask. He doesn't know they can tell without looking, because they haven't told him.

"Absolutely sure."

"Some good news, finally," he mutters, pushing his hair back from where it had fallen in front of his goggles.

"How do I help?" Sidestep asks, trying to catch his eyes. It's hard to look earnest when you're wearing a mask, so they hope he can hear how genuine their concern is. The strain against their shields is wearing on them, but it's hard for them to see this kind of devastation and not want to help.

_EatEatEatEatEatEatEatEatEatEatEatEatEatEatEatEat_

"You've done a lot," he says, truthfully, gratefully as he pats their shoulder. "Thank you. But you should get to a safe distance."

"But what if you need me for something?"

He grins, and what happens next is too quick for even Sidestep to process. A momentary lapse in their shields. A shout from the containment team as part of the swarm breaks off from the rest. Ortega doesn't hear it, but Sidestep does, it's all they can hear. He turns too late, sees it break through the perimeter and make a beeline for one of the medics, and Ortega, stupid Ortega, reaches to pull them away and

What they thought before was a buzz vibrating against their brain was actually a scream.

_**EATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEATEAT** _

It's eating Ortega's arm. Ortega is screaming along with them now, and Greer might join in. They know how painful that is, even if they can't sense it from Ortega, they felt it from the unlucky others, before, before they clamped down their shields and the shields are broken now and they can feel the panic, they can feel the urgency with which they devour his skin, oh, _God, they're going to kill Ortega, they can't let them, they have to_

 ** _"STOP!"_**  
.  
.  
.

 _stop?             stop._  
_eat?                        stop._  
_stop.                    stop.                eat?_  
_stop.               stop._  
_stop.                        eat?_  
_no. stop._  
_stop.            stop?           stop._  
_stop.                              stop._  
_stop._  
_stop.                         stop._

_stop?_

_._  
_._  
_._

**_S T O P_ **

-

Sidestep's hands are outstretched in front of them, toward Ortega, who is staring, perplexed, at the fact that the nanovores… listened? He covers the wound on his arm, pressing down to stop the bleeding, before he looks at the rest of the group. Did all of the nanovores stop? Did Sidestep do that?

He looks back at Sidestep, still standing still. "Sidestep?" he asks quietly, because he doesn't know what else to do. "You there?"

"Stop. I made them... Stop. Get rid of them. Quickly." The words are a desperate whisper, and Ortega assumes it's from the effort of…. whatever it is they're doing. Sidestep didn't have powers, he thought, but that will have to wait. Right now he needs to do his job.

That doesn't stop him from worrying about Greer. Even as he directs the others, he remains with them, ostensibly to monitor their hold on the swarm. If he has another reason, that's hardly worth holding against him, right?

With each cluster of nanovores they destroy, the strain Sidestep is under visibly lessens. He talks to them a few times, on their terms, because Ortega is not going to be the one at fault for them losing control.

It's a rough few hours, and with the finality of reaching the end of a marathon, Sidestep collapses, falling forward into Charge's arms.

"Steel!" Charge shouts, and sees the heavily armored man swivel his head to face him. "You're in charge. I'm getting Sidestep to a medic."

"No medic," they say, too quickly, finding their mind again even as their fingers find no purchase on the front of his suit. "Just need a minute. Or... a few minutes. Or a nap. Don't let them touch me."

"Okay, okay," Ortega says, an awkward, disbelieving laugh bleeding through. Once he's got a grip on them, he helps them over to a wall where they can sit and rest before setting himself down beside them, elbows on his knees, uninjured hand digging into his hair just to give him something to feel between his fingers. The two of them sit there for a long moment, silent and still in the wake of the surge.

Greer is sweating under the mask, but they don't dare to take it off. No matter how they're tempted. No matter how constricting the fabric is beginning to feel. Suffocation by their own sweat-soaked false identity would be a disgustingly symbolic way to go, but maybe it would save them from needing to have this conversation.

"We're going to have to talk about this eventually," their companion points out, and they wish he wasn't so good at reading their mind. They wish they could read his.

"Okay." Their voice sounds strange coming from their lips. They'd been screaming at a thousand simple minds for so long, but only in their head. Their voice should be strained, but it's too smooth, if they ignore the nervous tremor in their throat. Which, of course, they do. "Let's talk, then," they say, straightening their back and adjusting their hood. Like they're in control.

"You stopped the nanovores," he starts, half a question with the strange inflection in his words. Is it disbelief? Concern? Fear? "All of them. At once."

"I… did." Feigning ignorance now isn't going to work, not with the way he's staring at them like one of his case boards. They can feel the red string wrapping tighter around their face. Or maybe that's just the mask. The sweat is starting to dry, but they can taste the salt on their lips.

"How?"

"I'm a telepath," they admit, because it's easier than lying, for once. "I didn't realize I could stop them like that until..."

They try not to look at him, not to see the way his curiosity has softened into something much kinder. "Until?"

They don't know how to tell him the kind of emotion seeing him in that much pain evoked. How raw their mind gets when they feel too strongly, scare too deeply. How they lost all sense of self-preservation the moment he was in danger. So they don't. "Until I did it, I guess."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Why didn't they tell him? They slip their hands under the mask, just enough to give themself a bit of breathing room away from the sticky fabric. Symbolic deaths will have to wait. "Telepaths are more effective when no one knows there's a telepath. I normally don't even use it," they lie, because lying makes the little kernel of vulnerability flowering in their chest harden up again. Trust is dangerous. "Just to see what people are going to do next, so I can... Sidestep," they explain, just another childish double-meaning dragged screaming into the light.

"Huh."

Greer doesn't know how to interpret that. It's more a huff than a word. More punctuation than comment. They don't want to look at him to clarify, not when they know he's watching. Staring. Probably judging. They don't want to have to face that, not yet. They slip their hands out, fix the mask, fold their hands in their lap. It's silent between them for another minute.

The cameras will be here soon, now that there's no flesh-eating bots to deter them. They'd rather not be here when they arrive. Reporters ask questions they don't want to answer, especially when those answers involve how exactly the nanosurge was stopped. The idea alone is terrifying. If a telepath with a secret identity came into the limelight, someone would start to connect the dots. Someone dangerous. Someone they don't want to think about, because thinking makes them remember the taste of antiseptic, the restraints on their wrists, the feel of the stubble left behind when they shaved their head to make room for the electrodes. They don't want to think about it. They can't think about it, they should just run, they should

Their panic-driven thoughts are interrupted by a soft touch on their knee. Ortega's hand, Ortega's voice, a soft little, "Hey," just to bring them back to the world of the living. They look up at him. They have to be more careful with what they let him see, but their chest hurts too much to care. "You're okay, alright? I'm not mad."

"You're not...?" They have to take a moment to process that. Not mad. They look up at him, mask hiding their confusion, but letting them see his face clearly. More clearly than without it, they think. "Really? I've kept this secret for this long and you don't care?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Ortega says, the smile on his face alleviating some of their fears. "I am a little hurt that you didn't trust me. But I get it, I think."

"You can't possibly." The words are out of their mouth before they can stop themself.

He blinks, surprised. When did he take the goggles off? "Okay, sure. Maybe I can't, I'm not a telepath. I'll do my best to try, though. I'm... guessing you don't want the credit for this, then?"

"Not if it puts me out there as a telepath." Completely truthful, now.

"Okay. I'll see what I can do to head off any rumors, then." He pushes up off the wall to stand, and Greer feels like they've dodged a bullet. Or, more accurately, that someone took a finger and gently pushed the bullet away from them. That's something the Marshal can do. "If I go check on the others, are you gonna be alright?"

Sidestep nods, shifting where they sit in an attempt to stand themself. "Yeah. I'm fine, Marshal. I've been sitting too long."

They flinch back as they see Ortega's hand come down towards them, only to stop. They look at him, look at the hand, up at him again. He's offering to help them up. "I'm not asking as Marshal, I'm asking as Ortega. Your friend, remember?"

Oh.

Friend.

Right.

They take his hand, with a quiet, mumbled little, "thank you," and maybe they weren't paying enough attention on their way up. Maybe one of them pulled too hard, maybe they meant to. Accidentally on purpose.

However it happens, Greer bumps against Ricardo's chest as they come up, earning a soft, surprised (surprised? he probably planned this, the asshole) laugh from Ricardo, who gently steadies them by the elbow. "If you wanted to get closer, Greer, all you had to do was ask."

They can't allow that slight, even exhausted and not thinking straight they know giving Ortega any ground at all will result in a landslide. They tilt their head up, leaning in just enough that he can feel the rumble of their voice against his chest. "I didn't think you'd mind, Ricardo. Asking permission isn't normally something you care about."

He just grins, wider when they use his name, shaking his head as he steps back. "Not normally, no, but it's been a weird day. Get some rest, Greer, I've got it from here." He pats their shoulder and jogs off, not even allowing a chance for them to respond before he's gone again.

It's funny, they force themself to think as they go out in search of something to wash the salt from their lips. They've been so careful for so long. That one man alone could so easily threaten to bring their efforts to ruin... Greer knows they need to be careful. But they know they won't. They're stupid like that.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time posting on ao3, so i hope i didn't mess up the tagging too badly. it's also my first time posting writing, period, in years, so... yeah.
> 
> made a brief edit bc i did reread and realized i had Wrong Information.


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